Sanity
by journie19
Summary: Who said their first date was a "date"?


_AN: My take on Owen and Claire's first "date". I highly recommend listening to "Losing My Religion (REM) as you read this; that's what inspired this story, and of course I listened to it on repeat the entire time I was writing this little one-shot._

Claire felt like she was losing hold of herself; the fabric that made up who she was seemed to be unraveling, leaving her a confused, tired mess.

Why did she do this? Why did she want a job like this one? A job that took over her life, dictated her every decision? She could just as easily have been a teacher or a nurse or anything else in the world.

But she knew she was _meant_ to run Jurassic World; she felt so right at the park, like God had always intended for her to work there (and Claire supposed he _had_ intended it). It was just hard sometimes, especially when it felt like everyone was against her; most of her colleagues hated her; none of them understood that all she was trying to do was make Jurassic World a successful theme park.

And now she had another issue to deal with. Apparently the guy that was supposed to be working with the velociraptors had found some problems with the paddock. According to him, it wasn't "secure enough". He was afraid his precious little man-eaters would escape, and Claire had to take time out of her day off to deal with him. Or, rather, her night off. She had told Mr. Grady (Claire couldn't remember his first name to save her life) over the phone that the only time she could meet with him was at 9:30 PM, told him that her schedule was too busy for any other time.

Okay, so maybe there _was_ a reason all her coworkers despised her, but Claire couldn't help it. She did things her way, no questions asked.

She'd never seen Mr. Grady before, she'd only heard about him from Mr. Masrani and Zara, the latter describing him as the definition of "chiseled". Claire had rolled her eyes at Zara's description; sometimes her assistant was too sex-crazy for her own good.

When Claire pulled up to the raptor paddock at precisely 9:30, she expected him to be there, waiting on her. She didn't know exactly what to look for; Zara hadn't given her any specifics about his looks, so Claire wandered around the outskirts of the paddock, struggling silently through the gravel; heels weren't the best footwear for loose ground.

"You know, it might be easier to try walking without those shoes," said a voice from somewhere behind Claire, low and steady; it was a voice that commanded attention.

Claire whirled around, her hands flying to her hips, her balance thrown off slightly by the uneven ground beneath her. She could see his frame outlined by the starlight, tall and broad-shouldered. "You're late," Claire said, using her best "I'm-the-boss" voice. She slipped the small itinerary she had made for this small meeting out of her purse; it was a color-coded list of items to discuss, ordered from most important to least important. "Do you have somewhere we can talk?"

Mr. Grady gestured to the building on the edge of the paddock; it was a dull grey building made entirely of steel, presumably to protect its inhabitants from the raptors on the other side of the gate. He held out a hand to assist her over the rocks but Claire wordlessly pushed it away. She didn't need his help. He needed hers; he couldn't get anything he wanted without her.

But some small part of Claire wanted to accept his hand, wanted to let herself be helped because she was beginning to fear she couldn't do this job without help. She couldn't always run everything, she didn't always have the answer to the problems, and things were beginning to slip away. She was losing control.

Mr. Grady withdrew his hand with a shrug, saying something under his breath that Claire couldn't hear. He pushed open the heavy door of the building, flipping on the lights as he led Claire into a room that she supposed was his office. There were maps and notes scattered all over the desk that was shoved in the corner, and brightly colored flags and even a few deflated soccer balls littered the floor. Claire had the overwhelming desire to clean the place up, make it look more official and less like a child's playroom. Her eyes flitted over to Mr. Grady, who was facing away from her, fiddling with an old tape player on one of the crooked shelves nailed to the wall.

"Zara was right," Claire muttered to herself, eyeing his taught backside. His pants left little to the imagination that the white V-neck he wore conformed to him in just the right way, showing off the body he clearly worked hard to maintain. "Chiseled." The tape player clicked and Mr. Grady made a soft noise of triumph when a song that sounded suspiciously like _Losing My Religion_ started to play.

Claire rolled her eyes (of _course_ he had a tape player) just as Mr. Grady turned around. She felt her face flush as red as her hair when he quirked an eyebrow at her, running his eyes over her with a strange look that Claire couldn't read; she was too busy marveling at how he was just as beautiful from the front as he was from the back. Strong, powerful, but she could see a gentleness about him that didn't quite fit but was there nonetheless.

No wonder InGen had hired him to work with the raptors. He could probably make them submit to him without even trying.

"Drink?" he asked, holding up a bottle of tequila.

Claire wrinkled her nose. "No, thanks. On a diet."

Mr. Grady exhaled sharply and glanced at her again, his eyes lingering on hers, green against green. "If you say so." He poured himself a shot and swallowed in in one gulp, throwing his head back to reveal a sun-tanned neck that Claire suddenly couldn't keep her eyes off of.

"So, Mr. Grady-" Claire began, holding up her itinerary.

"Owen," he interrupted, taking another shot before pushing the bottle of tequila away. He held out a dirt-streaked hand to Claire's perfectly manicured one. The shook, and Claire couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine when he touched her. He looked at her again with that strange glint in his eye, like he was trying to tell her something without words and she couldn't understand.

"Claire," she said, breaking the handshake even though she didn't really want to. He took the itinerary out of her hand, reading it quickly before grinning wolfishly.

"They weren't kidding when they said you were a control freak," he said, handing the paper back to her. "We're supposed to take about the weak spots in the cage first, from 9:30 to 9:45, and then we get to discuss individual housing units for my raptors. This'll be fun."

Claire glared at him, not sure if he was being sarcastic or serious. She decided a little of both as the tape player moved to the chorus; Claire hadn't heard this song in ages. It brought back memories of high school and fights with her sister, who had always been the tamer one of the two of them.

"I'm afraid we're a bit behind schedule," said Owen, turning his wrist over to check his watch, "but I think we'll be okay."

"I didn't come here so you could make fun of me, _Mr. Grady_ ," said Claire angrily, crossing her arms. "You have a problem, and I'm here to help."

"I know," he said, his eyes softening. "I know what people say about you, you know."

"I know," said Claire. "You've already pointed out that I'm a control-freak. Anything else you want to remind me of? Any other corporate gossip you want to share?" She didn't mean to get so worked up, but she needed to vent and Owen just so happened to get caught in the crossfire.

"I never said being a control-freak was a _bad_ thing," said Owen, who reached out and smoothly took her hand, pulling her out of the office despite her protests. He led her up some rickety metal stairs, heading for the observation catwalk that had been built shortly before he had been hired. It ran the expanse of the raptor paddock, providing a good view of the containment unit below.

"What are you doing?" asked Claire, who had given up trying to pry away his hand from hers. And anyways, it was nice, being touched by someone who wasn't a family member or a handsy stockholder she had to tolerate.

"Look," he said, unlocking the small gate that led onto the catwalk. "I don't know you, or what you like, but, well, just watch." He stopped them in the middle of the catwalk, his face splitting into a smile when he saw the four dinosaurs curled up asleep below them. "You ready?" he asked, squeezing her hand gently.

Claire didn't recoil at the gesture like she expected herself to; rather, she leaned into him, ignoring the snide voice in her head that told her to run, told her she wasn't good enough or pretty enough or _whatever_ enough to do…this. Owen's breath hitched when she nestled into him, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before he wrapped a strong arm around her, pulling her against him like they'd done it a million times before. "Ready," she said, inhaling his musky, slightly sweaty scent.

He whistled sharply and the raptors stirred, rising up one at a time to stare at Owen in the silver moonlight. One of them stepped forward; blue streaks ran the length of its body and Claire assumed it was the leader, judging by how the other three raptors moved into position behind it. It looked up at Owen, its head tilted. Claire gasped quietly when she realized it was waiting for an order, waiting on Owen to make the first move.

"Tag," Owen said, his tone sharp but gentle. "Delta is It. Play easy, Blue. No fights this time."

The raptors screeched and turned to each other as one sprinted away into the woods; Claire figured this was a regular training exercise Owen used with them to help them form good sibling bonds.

"They're just starting to master this one," he said proudly, watching his animals frolic in the grass below. "They're just getting to the point where they trust each other to find the target."

"And they have to restrain themselves because they aren't hunting for the kill," said Claire in awe, understanding immediately the benefits of this exercise.

"Exactly," said Owen, tightening his arm around her.

"Why'd you show me this?" Claire murmured, turning to face him. She felt her heart beating fast and knew he could feel it too.

"I figured you needed to see control doesn't matter," said Owen, clasping his hands behind her. Claire was surrounded by him, enveloped in his arms, and she wasn't overly surprised to find that it didn't bother her; it felt… _good_. "These raptors listen to me because they trust me. I don't always know how to make them listen, Claire, but I keep working at it until they obey. Don't worry so much about everyone else; maybe they're against you, but I'm not, if that means anything at all to you. Just…let go."

"Let go," Claire repeated. His eyes met hers with that look again and Claire knew he could see straight through her and maybe she could she through him too, could see the quietly passionate person behind the rugged exterior.

She wasn't sure who leaned in first but suddenly they were kissing and Owen was groaning into her mouth as he pressed her against the railing, one hand tilting her head closer to his and the other pressing lightly at her lower back.

Claire twisted her fingers in his hair, his stubble scraping against her face in the best sort of way as her tongue tangled with his. She felt as if her entire body was channeling an electric current, connecting her to Owen, locking them together and she never wanted them to break apart.

Claire didn't even know him, but she trusted him. She had no idea what would happen with them next, but for tonight, Owen Grady had helped her hold onto her sanity and for that, she was grateful.

And good grief, he could kiss.

 _AN: Wrote this entire thing on my phone in about two hours because it just hit me and I love writing Claire/Owen oneshots. I suppose this could be connected to both Survival and Outlast, but it doesn't have to be if you don't want it to be!_

 _Review!_


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